Chapter 11

Morning light streamed through the high narrow window of her improvised room as the Lady of Dol Amroth wrinkled her nose, roused from a death-like sleep. She lay still a moment, collecting her thoughts and memories from the hours prior. Pulling herself up after a breath her brows furrowed, feeling disoriented and bemused. Near the bed lay a fresh chemise, the same grey as the soiled kirtle she wore, but blessedly clean. Beside it, new stockings and a linen cap were laid with care, a missive atop them. Standing, Lothíriel tucked unruly strands of hair into the bun and opened the letter. In short sharp script the note bade her, upon waking, to come to Ioreth's quarters. The woman found this peculiar, folding the paper and worrying a fingernail.

Had she slumbered when Ioreth came to awaken her for her shift? How could she be permitted to sleep through the night? Gathering the items left for her the woman opened the wooden door, peeking into the hallway. It was quiet, though she could hear patients' voices muffled in the wards adjacent to the corridor and the city beyond moving about in the morning. Slipping out and hastening her way to Ioreth's chamber Lothíriel was able to avoid most eyes, skirting past servants and knocking quietly on the older healer's door. Ioreth met her with a warm smile, beckoning her into the room and greeting her. She appeared to be readying herself for the day as well, a long braid resting over her shoulder, normally pinned up.

"How do you fair, my Lady? Rested, I hope? You've been well in need of a good sleep, I reckon. Come, I have a new gown. Let us get you out of that filthy one. Here, let me."

Ioreth's fingers made quick work of unlacing the stays at the back, the plain kirtle she'd referred to sitting on the table opposite the women, waiting for Lothíriel. Slipping out of the blood and sweat stained dress she stood in the chemise she'd brought from Dol Amroth, a shiver running up her spine. Ioreth tilted her head, examining the Princess for a beat before tossing the old garment to the corner of the room with a nod.

"A wash will be your next endeavor."

"I have work to do," Lothíriel replied with a frown, uncomfortable with the idea of lounging in a bath when there were patients waiting. Especially if she'd slumbered past her shift. "Did I sleep through someone fetching me for my schedule?"

"No," Ioreth replied, sitting on her bed as she wound the grey and brown braid around her head and securing it in place. "You were not to be bothered."

"Your doing, I suppose."

"Nay." Lothíriel's brows rose as a sly smile crept across the healer's thin lips as she stood and approached her companion, indicating with a finger for the younger woman to turn around. Complying, Lothíriel bent her knees slightly so Ioreth could unpin the bun and unravel the plait. "The King of Rohan bade us leave you to sleep. A most thoughtful man, I daresay."

"The King? Why… why would he -" the brunette pivoted as she spoke but was gently turned back as the older woman continued working on her hair.

"He found me at his sister's bedside and entreated me to give you rest until the morn. I could hardly refuse. And you were due for it. We managed well enough and will continue to when you take a soak."

"Did… did you tell him who I am? My title or name?"

"No." Ioreth paused, her fingers holding the dark curls a moment before she continued raking them out. "Was I meant to?"

"No," Lothíriel murmured, her tone becoming more resolute. "No. I am a healer within these walls. That is how he… and anyone else should know me."

"As you wish."

Lothíriel didn't all together like the way Ioreth trailed off but didn't comment on it as the woman finished pulling the braid apart. Swiveling to face her the Princess gave an appreciative smile before reaching for the new clothes. Ioreth stayed her hand with an appraising glance.

"My Lady, a bath will be drawn for you."

"I do not require a bath. I can wash with a towel if my scent is so offensive."

"This request comes not from me," the older woman confirmed, releasing Lothíriel's hand and leveling her gaze, which the Princess met, expression skeptical. Was the King of Rohan demanding she wash as well? "Your Lord Father made it known to me directly."

"My father requests I bathe?"

"Yes, my Lady."

With an annoyed 'hmm' Lothíriel pressed her lips together. Although she knew she probably reeked, she didn't want to be treated differently than the other healers on account of her heritage. But upon a second inspection of her mentor the brunette realized she too looked fresher and perhaps also indulged in a wash. Resignation relaxed the irritation in her face as she nodded.

"Very well."

"Good then. Wait here and I will have servants draw a bath. Most are communal, as you know, on this level but there are two bathing tubs for nobility in the southern chambers. They are private. The Lady of Rohan has already been cleansed in one. No one will trouble you there. And when you finish you can resume your labors ere your good father comes to collect you."

"Has he said as much?"

"Not to me, my Lady."

Lothíriel nodded, accepting her fate as Ioreth excused herself to make ready the arrangements.

TTTT

For all her protestations the bath was extraordinary, the water cleansing blood, sweat, grime and tears from her person. The tub was narrower than she was accustomed to and she had to step out to allow the filthy water to drain into a divot in the stone floor which ran the water out the room and likely down the side of the wall to a collecting pool levels below. She was grateful for servants that attended her to refill the tub, Lothíriel sitting on a stool with a large robe wrapped about her as they worked. It was disarming to have only male servants but they kept their distance and eyes averted. Once the water was replenished and the chamber vacated, the Lady of Dol Amroth slipped into the tub once more, noting with a smile that scented oils had been left on a table.

Although she was used to idling about in the bath at home she was conscious of the time and made quick work of cleaning her skin and applying the mildest of oils to her hair before rinsing. Once dry, she ran a comb through her waist length hair, drawing through knots and braiding it. Unable to locate pins to fasten it into a chignon the woman secured the plait with a tie and resigned to fit the linen cap over her head and let the braid lay at her back. She pulled the clean shift over her head and rolled the stockings to her knees, tying them carefully.

She felt like a new human, wishing the painful memories could be washed away along with the dirty bathwater. Were she dressing for court she'd secure a bodice with stays to her person before donning the grey kirtle but she was committed to her station in the White City. As it was, she didn't know where her belongings had been stored when they arrived, likely in the vacant chamber her father intended her to stay in during their occupation.

Loosely securing the ties that gave the kirtle form around her body and slipping the heavy boots back on, Lothíriel opened the door and looked down the hallway. This section of the Healing House was reserved for nobility, the gardens of the level interspersed with the various chambers. It had an entirely different atmosphere from the healing ward on the opposite side with its close quarters and functional spaces. Here there were open rooms, a solarium and sweeping views of the Pelennor Fields below, meant for both physical and emotional respite. It was here that the Lady Éowyn had been installed for the duration of her stay to recuperate, along with Faramir in his own chamber and handful of courtiers.

Moving down the wide corridor, Lothíriel located the Lady of Rohan's chamber, knocking softly. A female voice bade her enter and she opened the door to reveal Éowyn propped up in a large bed, her hair loose and a healthy warmth to her skin. She encouraged Lothíriel to venture further in as she gestured to the empty chair beside the bed.

"Hail, my Lady," Lothíriel greeted her with a smile as the door shut behind her. She sat in the offered seat regarding Éowyn. Indeed, she looked much improved from the night prior, a glow of health in her cheeks and a fresh dress replacing the men's clothes and armor. Only her eyes remained haunted, but she presented a genuine smile to the dark-haired woman.

"Good morrow," Éowyn replied, her voice still heavy with fatigue. "You look well."

"As do you. I am much relieved to see you settled here and afforded some privacy."

"Yes" the blonde woman agreed with a look around the chamber with its high ceilings and warm furnishings. "My dreams are dark still, I confess. But the change in scenery has done some good."

"That is well. The House of Healing is renowned for its palliating atmosphere. Second only to the hallowed walls of Imladris if the Warden is to be believed."

"I could hardly say," Éowyn answered as her companion checked the burns on her unbroken arm. "But it is certainly peaceful, if not overly quiet."

"Aye. A nearly empty city does allow one to be with their thoughts more readily." A silence followed as Lothíriel felt the blonde woman's eyes on her, matching her brother's in intensity and study. When she spoke once more Lothíriel had finished adjusting the bandage on her hand, seating herself as Éowyn's voice came forth with a note of curiosity.

"Is it not strange to be one of the few women in an entire city? Between yourself and Mistress Ioreth I believe we are the only womenfolk here."

"We are, unless there are ladies still hiding in men's clothes," Lothíriel replied with an insouciant grin, which was returned, before adopting a more serious tone. "It does feel odd."

"You must have remarkable skill to be permitted in the city when other women were sent away."

Or I am a stubborn brat who refused to stay back and had the privilege of my name behind me, Lothíriel thought dryly as she considered a response. Éowyn followed her statement up quickly, as though she were embarrassed to call Lothíriel out.

"Are you a citizen of Minas Tirith?"

"No. I am here, like Lady Ioreth, from afar in Gondor. I suppose I came soon enough for the battle that they couldn't turn me away and saw me fit for use." Well, it wasn't entirely untrue.

"I am glad for it."

Silence followed as Éowyn smoothed the blanket across her legs. Her left arm was still in a sling but she moved with more flexibility. Lothíriel stood and walked to a table against the wall where a kettle sat. Pouring a cup of tea, she bore it to the Lady with a smile. Éowyn accepted it with her unbound hand and took a slow sip before setting it down on the saucer by her thigh.

"Thank you. I am reminded so frequently to partake in food and drink that I believe I ignore it on principle now."

"I can hardly blame you. Between your bro – the King, and us healers you are rarely allowed a moment to yourself."

As if on cue a knock thudded against the door. Éowyn called out, admitting entrance as her brother moved through the doorframe. He paused when Lothíriel turned to greet him with a small bow. His expression shifted from placid to uncomfortable, again his brows furrowing as he canted his head. Stripped of his armor he stood before them in a dark tunic, a belt and leather jerkin, the hems of his breeches tucked neatly into the calf-length boots that appeared almost identical to Lothíriel's. His hair had been smoothed and tied back, though he did not appear to have been offered the same access to bathing as the women.

"Forgive the intrusion."

"Nonsense," Lothíriel replied lightly, beckoning him further inside with a polite smile. "I owe you much thanks, my Lord. I would not have found such restful sleep without your insistence." Éowyn's head tilted as brows rose over her gaze, which focused on her brother with an unasked question. The King, for his part, appeared even more uneasy.

"I take my leave," the healer murmured when neither sibling made a move to speak, turning her attention to the lady. "I'll check your bandages shortly and perhaps we'll take a turn around the chamber to see how you feel on your feet."

"I would be amenable to that," Éowyn replied kindly, her gaze on the King despite her comment directed at Lothíriel.

"Farewell."

"Good morrow, mistress."

Lothíriel caught the King's hazel eyes in a momentary glance as he spoke before giving her a nod and turning to his sister. Leaving them, the woman found herself wondering if Éowyn's brother ever truly smiled or expressed cheer. She could not imagine engaging with her siblings in such a reserved austere manner. But she also hadn't ridden into battle dressed as a man, slayed the greatest foe second only to the Dark Lord nor had her brothers thought her perished at the end of the battle. Perhaps the King deserved some latitude and empathy – for a time at least.

After checking in on her cousin, who remained sleeping, the woman found herself idling in the bay between corridors separating Éowyn's wing from the other chambers. Whether she was hoping to catch the King of Rohan leaving so she might rejoin the Lady or if she was hoping to see him again she could not tell. But as she busied herself retying the linen cap over her head she caught sight of a child – nay, a Hobbit moving down the adjacent wing. Recognizing Pippin, the healer smiled as he came into view and recognized her with a wave.

"My Lady," he gave a half bow as she joined him in the hallway.

"Hello, Pippin. You are well?"

"Aye," he replied with a quick smile. "Well enough. I've come to visit my friend."

"Lady Éowyn?"

"No, well, yes. Her, too. But I've come to see Merry - Meriadoc Brandybuck, my kinsman." He gestured with a nod of his head that she follow him down the hall in the opposite direction of Éowyn's room. "We traveled from the Shire together but, if you recall, I was separated from him. Well, borne away by Gandalf, really. But he stayed with the Riders of Rohan. Rode into battle – if you can believe it. Merry aided Lady Éowyn in vanquishing the Witch King. A Hobbit!" His voice dropped as they entered a room, a figure lying in a bed altogether too big. "And now I'm looking after him as he recovers. Morning, Merry."

The diminutive figure in bed sat up, a shock of caramel curls brushed away to reveal the tired face of another Halfling. He appeared older than Pippin but there was a twinkle in his bright eyes that she recognized. Dropping her eyes as she gave a brief bow Lothíriel returned his smile as Pippin spoke again.

"This is… well, may I tell him who you are?"

"Yes," she replied as Pippin scrabbled upon a chair and darted to the bed, sitting beside his companion.

"The Lady of Dol Amroth. Lothíriel."

"Greetings, my Lady," the other Hobbit welcomed her, his voice lower than she was expecting. "You must be one of the friends Pip has been telling me about."

"I should be so honored," she intoned as she sat on the chair. "You've had quite the journey, as Master Took tells it."

"True enough, my Lady. But it is well that I'm recuperating here. You're from Dol Amroth? I'm afraid I know little to nothing of the place."

"You needn't know much. We've come in service of the Steward and now the uncrowned King."

"Her father is Lord Imrahil, if you remember him," Pippin put in as he adjusted his tunic and brushed crumbs of second breakfast from the white tree on his chest.

"I do," Merry replied, watching his friend before turning his attention to Lothíriel. "Is there a secret to your name that Pippin inquired if he could share it?"

"No secret, Master Brandybuck. My title and name should bear no importance while tending to the wounded but such honorifics have a way of… complicating things. So I've forgone such labels when I can."

"Fortunately, we are without any lofty bothersome titles to get in our way," Pippin stated with a grin, as Merry looked at him affectionately.

"Not so, Guard of the Citadel!" Lothíriel corrected him as he ducked his head sheepishly.

"Verily, my Lady. And Merry here was knighted an Esquire of Rohan."

"A stately honor indeed."

"Well, I'd be naught but a crow-food on yonder field were it not for Pip and the hands of Aragorn."

"He is astonishing, this Aragorn," Lothíriel commented thoughtfully. The result of his work was impressive, for Merry looked untouched by the Black Breath. "May I ask, Master Brandybuck -"

"Merry, please."

"Merry. Do you feel recovered of your ailments?"

"For the most part," he answered looking down at his body with a small shrug. "I was in a daze ere I came to the city. Like some vast fog had descended upon my vision. I felt lost, stranded between dreaming and waking. My body hurt from its toils, but once Aragorn brought that concoction forth – what was it again, Merry?"

"Kingsfoil."

"Yes! The mixture and his wise words lifted the haze, as the sun breaks through the clouds and melts the morning mist. I fear I cannot explain it more beyond that."

"It is that way with the Lord Faramir," Pippin put in.

"Yes," Lothíriel nodded, brow furrowed lightly as she mused aloud. "But not so for the Lady Éowyn. Her visible wounds are healing well enough but she seems to still walk in the mist, as you put it."

"Perhaps something keeps her mind ensconced in shadow. I felt my mind was heavy as I wandered," Merry murmured, expression darkening in memory. "A sorrow lingered, and it weighed me down mightily. I could only think of the desolation of our company," he looked to Pippin as he spoke carefully. "Boromir's death, Gandalf falling, poor Sam and Frodo alone in their trials. I was plagued with darkness until you found me. My heart was gladdened further when Aragorn came, and the weight lifted. It was hope, I think. Like the promise of light at the end of a long night."

The trio sat in silence, reflecting on these words. Pippin's expression was thoughtful but Merry's held a trace of sadness, as though recounting his experience brought some of the weight back. Lothíriel watched the Hobbits pensively, idly playing with the end of her braid.

"Perhaps the Lady Éowyn has no light to call on," Pippin murmured at length as the two looked at him.

"We might endeavor to find such a light," the woman replied as Merry leaned back against the pillow, tilting his head in thought.

"Éomer, her brother, may yet know."

Lothíriel watched him close his eyes for a moment, recognizing his fatigue from both their conversation and the recollection of painful memories. Standing she offered a cant of her head as Merry opened his eyes.

"I appreciate your counsel. I will trouble you no further on this. It was a pleasure, Merry."

"Thank you, my Lady. Do come visit again. I hope to be up and about sooner rather than later."

"Of course," she smiled and nodded to Pippin. "Find me if you have need of anything."

With that she departed the chamber, leaving the Hobbits to begin her rounds in the healing wards. Éowyn's hallway lay empty as Lothíriel made her way to the other side of the level. She spent the rest of the day managing care with the Warden, Ioreth and the other healers, checking in on Éowyn and Faramir intermittently. She was unable to escort the Lady of Rohan for a walk, as she slumbered most of the day. Lothíriel caught sight of the King of Rohan occasionally throughout the morning and afternoon checking both on his sister and his kinsmen in the communal healing hall. Each time he caught her gaze and offered a polite if not discreet nod.

She found herself vigilant for Halgeir's father or brother as she worked, prepared to greet and interact with them if they returned. She half hoped she would have another opportunity to treat them with the dignity their grief deserved, the other half grateful she did not have to exchange words once more. In the past she'd prided herself on her ability to navigate grief with the families of patients but with them she was overcome with shame and embarrassment, though she could not explain why she behaved thus.

It was well after dusk when a messenger found her wrapping a patient's head wound in the healing bay nearest to the garden. He bowed before her as she sat back on her heels, brows raised expectantly.

"My Lady," the lad greeted her. She recognized him as one of the squires or pages of a Gondorian knight who'd taken to running missives for various lords between the levels. "I am bidden to bear you a message."

"Alright," she replied, wiping her hands upon a towel and tossing it over her shoulder, awaiting the word.

"The Lord Imrahil, Steward of Gondor, requests your presence in the Citadel."

"Does he?" she replied with a brow quirked over one eye. No doubt it seemed strange to this boy that the acting Lord of the City would request a modest healer come to the noblest level of Minas Tirith.

"If it pleases my Lady," he intoned just short of nervously, extending a hand to the exit. Looking down at her patient, who also bore a quizzical expression, the woman grinned.

"I'll check that wound when I return, for I am summoned by the Master of Swans," she said to him as she placed a hand on his shoulder before standing and nodding to the boy. "Let us not keep his Lordship waiting."